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<div class="c1">
<h1 id="pgepubid00002">THE ADVENTURES OF<br />

SHERLOCK HOLMES</h1>
<br />
<h3 id="pgepubid00003">BY</h3>
<br />
<h2 id="pgepubid00004">SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE</h2>
<hr size="3" noshade="noshade" />
<br />
</div>
<div class="c1">
<h3 id="pgepubid00006"><a id="id_1">ADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN
BOHEMIA</a></h3>
<br />
I.</div>
<p><br />
<span class="c4">T</span>o Sherlock Holmes she is always <i>the</i>

woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his
eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that
he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that
one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably
balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and
observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have
placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer
passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for
the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and
actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his
own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a
distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental
results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own
high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in
a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that
woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.</p>
<p>I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us
away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred
interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of
his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while
Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul,
remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books,
and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the
drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He
was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied
his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in
following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had
been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I
heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the
case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy
of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission
which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the
reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however,
which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew
little of my former friend and companion.</p>
<p>One night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning
from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice),
when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered
door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and
with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a
keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his
extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I
looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette
against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his
head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who
knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own
story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams
and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was
shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.</p>
<p>His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I
think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he
waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated
a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the
fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.</p>
<p>“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have
put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”</p>
<p>“Seven!” I answered.</p>
<p>“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,
I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
that you intended to go into harness.”</p>
<p>“Then, how do you know?”</p>
<p>“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless
servant girl?”</p>

<p>“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly
have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I
had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as
I have changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary
Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there,
again, I fail to see how you work it out.”</p>
<p>He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands
together.</p>
<p>“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the
inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the
leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been
caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the
sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double
deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a
particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As
to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of
iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right
forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where
he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not
pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”</p>
<p>I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his
process of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked,
“the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I
could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your
reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe
that my eyes are as good as yours.”</p>
<p>“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing
himself down into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The
distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps
which lead up from the hall to this room.”</p>
<p>“Frequently.”</p>
<p>“How often?”</p>
<p>“Well, some hundreds of times.”</p>
<p>“Then how many are there?”</p>

<p>“How many? I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is
just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I
have both seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in
these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or
two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw
over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open
upon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”</p>
<p>The note was undated, and without either signature or address.</p>
<p>“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight
o’clock,” it said, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter
of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal
houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted
with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.
This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your
chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear
a mask.”</p>
<p>“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that
it means?”</p>
<p>“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before
one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories,
instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you
deduce from it?”</p>
<p>I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was
written.</p>
<p>“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,
endeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not
be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and
stiff.”</p>
<p>“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an
English paper at all. Hold it up to the light.”</p>

<p>I did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a
large “G” with a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.</p>
<p>“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.</p>
<p>“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”</p>
<p>“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for
‘Gesellschaft,’ which is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary
contraction like our ‘Co.’ ‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for
the ‘Eg.’ Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a
heavy brown volume from his shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are,
Egria. It is in a German-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from
Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein,
and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy,
what do you make of that?” His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great
blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette.</p>
<p>“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.</p>
<p>“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you
note the peculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we
have from all quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have
written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It
only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who
writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his
face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our
doubts.”</p>
<p>As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and
grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell.
Holmes whistled.</p>
<p>“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing
out of the window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A
hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if
there is nothing else.”</p>
<p>“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”</p>

<p>“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my
Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss
it.”</p>
<p>“But your client—”</p>
<p>“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he
comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best
attention.”</p>
<p>A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and
in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a
loud and authoritative tap.</p>
<p>“Come in!” said Holmes.</p>
<p>A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six
inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was
rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to
bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and
fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was
thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured
at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl.
Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at
the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric
opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a
broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of
his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which
he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still
raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared
to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long,
straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of
obstinacy.</p>
<p>“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a
strongly marked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked
from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.</p>
<p>“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and
colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my
cases. Whom have I the honour to address?”</p>
<p>“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman.
I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme
importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.”</p>

<p>I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me
back into my chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before
this gentleman anything which you may say to me.”</p>
<p>The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said
he, “by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end
of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not
too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon
European history.”</p>
<p>“I promise,” said Holmes.</p>
<p>“And I.”</p>
<p>“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The
august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and
I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself
is not exactly my own.”</p>
<p>“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.</p>
<p>“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution
has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and
seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak
plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary
kings of Bohemia.”</p>
<p>“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself
down in his armchair and closing his eyes.</p>
<p>Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,
lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the
most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly
reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.</p>

<p>“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he
remarked, “I should be better able to advise you.”</p>
<p>The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore
the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,”
he cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”</p>
<p>“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken
before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond
von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of
Bohemia.”</p>
<p>“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down
once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can
understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own
person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an
agent without putting myself in his power. I have come <i>incognito</i>
from Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”</p>
<p>“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.</p>
<p>“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a
lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known
adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”</p>
<p>“Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes without
opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing
all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to
name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish
information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between
that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a
monograph upon the deep-sea fishes.</p>

<p>“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year
1858. Contralto—hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of
Warsaw—yes! Retired from operatic stage—ha! Living in London—quite so!
Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person,
wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting
those letters back.”</p>
<p>“Precisely so. But how—”</p>
<p>“Was there a secret marriage?”</p>
<p>“None.”</p>
<p>“No legal papers or certificates?”</p>
<p>“None.”</p>
<p>“Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should
produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to
prove their authenticity?”</p>
<p>“There is the writing.”</p>
<p>“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”</p>

<p>“My private note-paper.”</p>
<p>“Stolen.”</p>
<p>“My own seal.”</p>
<p>“Imitated.”</p>
<p>“My photograph.”</p>
<p>“Bought.”</p>
<p>“We were both in the photograph.”</p>
<p>“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an
indiscretion.”</p>
<p>“I was mad—insane.”</p>

<p>“You have compromised yourself seriously.”</p>
<p>“I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”</p>
<p>“It must be recovered.”</p>
<p>“We have tried and failed.”</p>
<p>“Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.”</p>
<p>“She will not sell.”</p>
<p>“Stolen, then.”</p>
<p>“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked
her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she
has been waylaid. There has been no result.”</p>
<p>“No sign of it?”</p>

<p>“Absolutely none.”</p>
<p>Holmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.</p>
<p>“But a very serious one to me,” returned the King reproachfully.</p>
<p>“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the
photograph?”</p>
<p>“To ruin me.”</p>
<p>“But how?”</p>
<p>“I am about to be married.”</p>
<p>“So I have heard.”</p>
<p>“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the
King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family.
She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my
conduct would bring the matter to an end.”</p>

<p>“And Irene Adler?”</p>
<p>“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I
know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of
steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of
the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman,
there are no lengths to which she would not go—none.”</p>
<p>“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”</p>
<p>“I am sure.”</p>
<p>“And why?”</p>
<p>“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the
betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”</p>
<p>“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That
is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look
into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for
the present?”</p>
<p>“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the
Count Von Kramm.”</p>
<p>“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”</p>

<p>“Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.”</p>
<p>“Then, as to money?”</p>
<p>“You have <i>carte blanche</i>.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely?”</p>
<p>“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom
to have that photograph.”</p>
<p>“And for present expenses?”</p>
<p>The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak
and laid it on the table.</p>
<p>“There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in
notes,” he said.</p>

<p>Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and
handed it to him.</p>
<p>“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”</p>
<p>Holmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he. “Was the
photograph a cabinet?”</p>
<p>“It was.”</p>
<p>“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon
have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the
wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be
good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like
to chat this little matter over with you.”<br />
<br />
</p>
<div class="c1">II.</div>
<p><br />
At three o’clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet
returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly
after eight o’clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however,
with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I was
already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded
by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the
two crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case
and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.
Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had
on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and
his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study
his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he
disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his
invariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased
to enter into my head.</p>

<p>It was close upon four before the door opened, and a
drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed
face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was
to my friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look
three times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he
vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes
tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his
pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed
heartily for some minutes.</p>
<p>“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and laughed again
until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“It’s quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I
employed my morning, or what I ended by doing.”</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the
habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.”</p>
<p>“Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,
however. I left the house a little after eight o’clock this morning in
the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and
freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that
there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a <i>bijou</i> villa,
with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road,
two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right
side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those
preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind
there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be
reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined
it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of
interest.</p>
<p>“I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that
there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I
lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in
exchange twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco,
and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say
nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was
not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to
listen to.”</p>

<p>“And what of Irene Adler?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in that part. She is
the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the
Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives
out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom
goes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male
visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing,
never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey
Norton, of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a
confidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews,
and knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I
began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over
my plan of campaign.</p>
<p>“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the
matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation
between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his
client, his friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably
transferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less
likely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should continue
my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman’s
chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the
field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I
have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the
situation.”</p>
<p>“I am following you closely,” I answered.</p>
<p>“I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab
drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a
remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently the
man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to
the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with
the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.</p>
<p>“He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch
glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down,
talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing.
Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he
stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked
at it earnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross
&amp; Hankey’s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in
the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’</p>
<p>“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do
well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the
coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear,
while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It
hadn’t pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I
only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman,
with a face that a man might die for.</p>
<p>“ ‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried, ‘and half a
sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.’</p>

<p>“This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing
whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau
when a cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a
shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. ‘The Church of St.
Monica,’ said I, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty
minutes.’ It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was
clear enough what was in the wind.</p>
<p>“My cabby drove fast. I don’t think I ever drove faster, but the
others were there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming
horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and
hurried into the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I
had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating
with them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar.
I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a
church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to
me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.</p>
<p>“ ‘Thank God,’ he cried. ‘You’ll do. Come! Come!’</p>
<p>“ ‘What then?’ I asked.</p>
<p>“ ‘Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’</p>
<p>“I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I
was I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear,
and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting
in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton,
bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the
clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position
in which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it
that started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some
informality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused
to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky
appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the
streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I
mean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”</p>
<p>“This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said I; “and what
then?”</p>
<p>“Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if
the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very
prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however,
they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house.
‘I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she said as she left
him. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I
went off to make my own arrangements.”</p>
<p>“Which are?”</p>

<p>“Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the
bell. “I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be
busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your
co-operation.”</p>
<p>“I shall be delighted.”</p>
<p>“You don’t mind breaking the law?”</p>
<p>“Not in the least.”</p>
<p>“Nor running a chance of arrest?”</p>
<p>“Not in a good cause.”</p>
<p>“Oh, the cause is excellent!”</p>
<p>“Then I am your man.”</p>
<p>“I was sure that I might rely on you.”</p>

<p>“But what is it you wish?”</p>
<p>“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to
you. Now,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our
landlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not
much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene
of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at
seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”</p>
<p>“And what then?”</p>
<p>“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to
occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not
interfere, come what may. You understand?”</p>
<p>“I am to be neutral?”</p>
<p>“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small
unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into
the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will
open. You are to station yourself close to that open window.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>

<p>“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I
give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire.
You quite follow me?”</p>
<p>“Entirely.”</p>
<p>“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long
cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s
smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting.
Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will
be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of
the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have
made myself clear?”</p>
<p>“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you,
and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of
fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street.”</p>
<p>“Precisely.”</p>
<p>“Then you may entirely rely on me.”</p>
<p>“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I
prepare for the new role I have to play.”</p>
<p>He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in
the character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman.
His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic
smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as
Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes
changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to
vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor,
even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in
crime.</p>
<p>It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still
wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine
Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we
paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of
its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock
Holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less
private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet
neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily
dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with
his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and
several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars
in their mouths.</p>

<p>“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of
the house, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph
becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as
averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its
coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to
find the photograph?”</p>
<p>“Where, indeed?”</p>
<p>“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is
cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She
knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two
attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that
she does not carry it about with her.”</p>
<p>“Where, then?”</p>
<p>“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But
I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they
like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone
else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what
indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business
man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few
days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her
own house.”</p>
<p>“But it has twice been burgled.”</p>
<p>“Pshaw! They did not know how to look.”</p>
<p>“But how will you look?”</p>
<p>“I will not look.”</p>

<p>“What then?”</p>
<p>“I will get her to show me.”</p>
<p>“But she will refuse.”</p>
<p>“She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is
her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.”</p>
<p>As he spoke the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round
the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up
to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at
the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a
copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with
the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by
the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the
scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was
struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage,
was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who
struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed
into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just as he reached her, he gave
a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his
face. At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and
the loungers in the other, while a number of better dressed people, who
had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help
the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still
call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her
superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into
the street.</p>
<p>“Is the poor gentleman much hurt?” she asked.</p>
<p>“He is dead,” cried several voices.</p>
<p>“No, no, there’s life in him!” shouted another. “But he’ll be
gone before you can get him to hospital.”</p>
<p>“He’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “They would have had the
lady’s purse and watch if it hadn’t been for him. They were a gang, and
a rough one, too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”</p>

<p>“He can’t lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?”</p>
<p>“Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable
sofa. This way, please!”</p>
<p>Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out
in the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my
post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been
drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not
know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part
he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of
myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I
was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon
the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to
draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened my
heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I
thought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from
injuring another.</p>
<p>Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man
who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window.
At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed
my rocket into the room with a cry of “Fire!” The word was no sooner out
of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and
ill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of
“Fire!” Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the
open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later
the voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.
Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner of the
street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend’s arm in mine,
and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in
silence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the quiet
streets which lead towards the Edgeware Road.</p>
<p>“You did it very nicely, Doctor,” he remarked. “Nothing could
have been better. It is all right.”</p>
<p>“You have the photograph?”</p>
<p>“I know where it is.”</p>
<p>“And how did you find out?”</p>
<p>“She showed me, as I told you she would.”</p>

<p>“I am still in the dark.”</p>
<p>“I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, laughing. “The matter
was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street
was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening.”</p>
<p>“I guessed as much.”</p>
<p>“Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in
the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my
face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.”</p>
<p>“That also I could fathom.”</p>
<p>“Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else
could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I
suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to
see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were
compelled to open the window, and you had your chance.”</p>
<p>“How did that help you?”</p>
<p>“It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on
fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values
most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once
taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington Substitution
Scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business.
A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her
jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in
the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would
rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and
shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded
beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just
above the right bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a
glimpse of it as she half drew it out. When I cried out that it was a
false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the
room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses,
escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the
photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he was watching
me narrowly, it seemed safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may
ruin all.”</p>
<p>“And now?” I asked.</p>

<p>“Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King
to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown
into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when
she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a
satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his own hands.”</p>
<p>“And when will you call?”</p>
<p>“At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall
have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may
mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King
without delay.”</p>
<p>We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was
searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:</p>
<p>“Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.”</p>
<p>There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the
greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried
by.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard that voice before,” said Holmes, staring down the
dimly lit street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.”<br />
<br />
</p>
<div class="c1">III.</div>

<p><br />
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast
and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room.</p>
<p>“You have really got it!” he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by
either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.</p>
<p>“Not yet.”</p>
<p>“But you have hopes?”</p>
<p>“I have hopes.”</p>
<p>“Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.”</p>
<p>“We must have a cab.”</p>
<p>“No, my brougham is waiting.”</p>

<p>“Then that will simplify matters.” We descended and started off
once more for Briony Lodge.</p>
<p>“Irene Adler is married,” remarked Holmes.</p>
<p>“Married! When?”</p>
<p>“Yesterday.”</p>
<p>“But to whom?”</p>
<p>“To an English lawyer named Norton.”</p>
<p>“But she could not love him.”</p>
<p>“I am in hopes that she does.”</p>
<p>“And why in hopes?”</p>

<p>“Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future
annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your
Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason why she
should interfere with your Majesty’s plan.”</p>
<p>“It is true. And yet—! Well! I wish she had been of my own
station! What a queen she would have made!” He relapsed into a moody
silence, which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.</p>
<p>The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood
upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from
the brougham.</p>
<p>“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?” said she.</p>
<p>“I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my companion, looking at her with a
questioning and rather startled gaze.</p>
<p>“Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She
left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross
for the Continent.”</p>
<p>“What!” Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and
surprise. “Do you mean that she has left England?”</p>
<p>“Never to return.”</p>
<p>“And the papers?” asked the King hoarsely. “All is lost.”</p>

<p>“We shall see.” He pushed past the servant and rushed into the
drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was
scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open
drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.
Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and,
plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was
superscribed to “Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.” My
friend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated at
midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:<br />
<br />
</p>
<p>“MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—You really did it very well. You
took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a
suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to
think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had been told that,
if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you. And your
address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what
you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to
think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have
been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I
often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the
coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I
call them, and came down just as you departed.</p>
<p>“Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was
really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then
I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple
to see my husband.</p>
<p>“We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so
formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call
to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love
and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he will
without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only
to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure
me from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a
photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr.
Sherlock Holmes,</p>
<p class="c5"><br />
“Very truly yours, <br />
“IRENE NORTON, <i>née</i> ADLER.”<br />

<br />
</p>
<p>“What a woman—oh, what a woman!” cried the King of Bohemia, when
we had all three read this epistle. “Did I not tell you how quick and
resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not
a pity that she was not on my level?”</p>
<p>“From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a
very different level to your Majesty,” said Holmes coldly. “I am sorry
that I have not been able to bring your Majesty’s business to a more
successful conclusion.”</p>
<p>“On the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the King; “nothing could be
more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is
now as safe as if it were in the fire.”</p>
<p>“I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.”</p>
<p>“I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can
reward you. This ring—” He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger
and held it out upon the palm of his hand.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty has something which I should value even more
highly,” said Holmes.</p>
<p>“You have but to name it.”</p>
<p>“This photograph!”</p>

<p>The King stared at him in amazement.</p>
<p>“Irene’s photograph!” he cried. “Certainly, if you wish it.”</p>
<p>“I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the
matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good morning.” He bowed,
and, turning away without observing the hand which the King had
stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers.<br />
<br />
</p>
<p>And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom
of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by
a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I
have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable
title of <i>the</i> woman.<br />
<br />
</p>
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